The End
by Zoey Overbeck
Summary: The Tank's fists were barely a meter from her when maniacal laughter burst from her lips. "I'm going to hell, and you bastards are coming with me!" She closed her eyes and waited for the end, but this time, she wasn't scared at all. She was going home.


_People living deeply have no fear of death.__  
><strong>Anais Nin<strong>_

So this was how it was going to end, huh? A month and a quarter of fighting through hordes of these bastards, and she was going to die in the most un-dramatic way possible.

'Figures', she scoffed. 'In the movies, the chick usually survives'

Zoey inhaled and exhaled shakily, her breaths coming out as gentle wheezes. A bloodied hand landed on a similarly splattered chest. Trembling fingers lightly danced over where her ribs subtly poked through her skin, the result of food deprivation over the last few weeks leading up to this grand event.

A sharp intake of breath, and she swore loudly, thrashing her legs in agony when her fingers registered yet another source of her troubles. Two, maybe three ribs were shattered and maybe four ribs were cracked, as if having both of her legs broken wasn't enough. The hand dropped from her chest, brushing against unfeeling stone. A noticeable trembling had taken control of her body and she needed to grit her teeth and tuck in her chest for it to stop. Her knees poked her fractured ribs and she stifled a scream, slowly allowing her body to revert to a resting position.

The world spun, and the teenager stupidly blinked her eyes as the brick wall and the yellowing sky outside of the door became a blur.

A shadow fell over her and Zoey wearily glanced up. A Hunter sat on its haunches, lowly growling. Lowering its front half, it started to crawl towards her, sharp piercing howls indicating its upcoming pounce. Zoey's muscles tensed. She was not going to die from a measly little Hunter- not now, not ever. The personal sacrifice of the three men she had come to know as her surrogate family had gotten this far, and she wouldn't let some mealy mouthed bastard take it away. They had done their part and now it was her turn.

A magnum lay beside her- Louis's magnum- and she reached for it at the same time the infected leapt towards her, claws outstretched and ready to rip her into shreds. She lifted the pistol and used the butt of the weapon to smash against the undead being's face.

It yelped and staggered away from the feisty teen, holding a hand to its now broken nose which bled profusely. It lifted up its hooded head, accusingly growling at the dying young woman. It crouched again and in the blink of an eye, it was airborne once again.

_Bang!_

Zoey resisted the urge to howl when the kickback of the magnum made her arm crash against her shattered ribs. The gun itself almost flew out of her hands when she fired, her weakened grip barely enough to continue possession of the weapon.

The bullet zipped through the creature's skull, covered in grey matter. The dead Hunter slammed into the generator Zoey rested on, the bones making a sickening crack upon contact. The hoarse laughter that followed was obscured by her pained coughs and the grating sound of Hunter claws making parallel lines on the painted metal surface as the body slid off of the power source.

Zoey let the pistol fall to the ground with a clatter. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, passively taking in the circumstances.

How could it have gotten like this...? One day, they were escaping in an armored van, simply relieved to be carried away in the military's arms. The next, they were escaping targets on a train to nowhere while the acquaintances that had assisted them were slaughtered. Then, they were picked off one by one until she was the only one left.

They had sacrificed themselves for the group, for her. The sailboat was rhythmically bobbing in calm waters behind the lowered bridge, waiting for the passenger that would never come. Bill's damn plan had came back to bite him in the ass.

'You fucktard!' she silently chided the dead man, ignoring the tears that started to fall and run down her cheeks. 'You fucking son of a bitch… you left us when you promised the four of us would stay together, and for what, a heroic act you decided to pull from your ass!'

Her broken legs painfully throbbed and Zoey bit her lips; her teeth tore through skin and brought blood to the surface of her mouth. Zoey disgustedly spat it out. The trembling returned, and it took longer and used more effort for the teenager to contain it. She coughed once more, but this time, it brought blood along with it. Her heart throbbed in her head, pounding rhythmically, frantically. She opened her eyes in surprise before shutting them again. Her vision was dark at the edges and it seemed like everything was in black and white, completely devoid of other colors.

"Oh God…" she disbelievingly whispered to herself."I'm gonna die…"

Shadows larger than those of other infected fell over her and Zoey snapped open her reddened eyes in frustration, clearly angered at the disturbance.

This time, three Tanks passively stood at the doorway, leering at her with blank eyes. Three. Fucking. Tanks. They were the same bastards that had claimed Louis's life- their skin was peppered with M-16 bullets and lacerations from the black man's machete.

She raised the pistol once more and squeezed the trigger, taking aim even though a voice in the back of her mind told her that the pistol's bullets won't do much damage. Still, it was worth a shot…

_Click! Click! Click!_

Fuck.

'Louis, you crazy ass.' She distantly thought, wistfully thinking. 'You whipped their butts and then some before you kicked the god damn bucket.'

"Aw hell" she sighed, dropping the empty gun and unhooking her rifle from her back. "Listen guys, I'll be with you in a second. Just let me take care of some business"

The Tanks roared and started for her but then started to actually _fight _each other for the chance to kill her first.

Zoey slowly pulled out a thin cylindrical object from a pocket while the three behemoths were squabbling. Quickly lighting the cigarette Bill had given to her yesterday, holding it between two fingers before placing it in her mouth. She lazily inhaled the smoke, ignoring a coughing fit as it surfaced, instead focusing on the situation at hand.

She removed the clip from the hunting rifle and checked it. 8 bullets left. She replaced the clip and took aim.

_This is for Francis._

"Die, you fuckers" she snarled, firing off the first three remaining rounds of the hunting rifle that had served her for so long and so well.

The Tank shrieked and flailed about in its death throes when the propane tank she fired at violently exploded, wounding and causing its companions to stumble in the process.

_This is for Louis_.

The last five bullets tunneled through a Tank's head and punctured the massive chest of the behemoth behind it, momentarily stunning it.

One down, two to go.

She glanced up at the final colossal monsters, idly humming. She was surprised at herself- she was about to die, and yet she seemed so… conceding, so depressed that her death wouldn't matter anymore.

_This is for Bill._

She removed the brown bottle from her belt, a parting gift from the biker before he leaped into a Witch's charging path to protect her.

"You bastards are in for a big surprise!" she called, imitating the one other person she came to label as her mentor and unofficial grandfather.

She lit the Molotov with the cigarette and threw it just as the last two Tanks smashed their way into the room, igniting the area in flames. A gas can sitting beside her hissed as the plastic body melted, spraying gasoline everywhere in the resulting splash.

The flames lapped at her skin, burning her, but Zoey could no longer feel any pain. In her mind, there were only her and memories.

"Francis, you fucking retard." she half mumbled, seeing in her mind once again how the tattooed man had been incapacitated by the Witch. The biker had killed her before the last rake of claws claimed his life at the very same time.

"Louis, you stupid son of a bitch..."

Damn the man and his willingness to lure the Tanks from them. He knew his stubborn ass would do him in one day.

"William, you..."

She couldn't even finish the sentence.

A Tank roared as it heaved itself through the flames, intent on doing one thing before succumbed to its wounds. Two meaty hands rose in the air and formed into fists.

She gazed upwards, unable to do anything else. She swore she heard somebody call her name.

Her vision blurred as thick black smoke started to penetrate the surrounding air. Her failing mind barely comprehended what was going on. The lit cigarette fell from her lips.

Zoey's lips twitched upwards. Perhaps she was falling to the dangers of smoke inhalation. Perhaps in the madness of the world, she would find some semblance of sanity within the last seconds of her life. The fire would do more than ensure that the infected wouldn't be able to eat her corpse; it would take the last known carrier on Earth with it.

Bill the bad-ass grandpa...

_"An assault rifle... This shit's gettin' more like 'Nam every second."_

Louis the skittish warrior...

_"Pills here!"_

And Francis the protector...

_"If we meet anyone, tell 'em we're cops."_

She would not forget them.

The Tank's fists were barely a meter from her when maniacal laughter burst from her lips.

"I'm going to hell, and you bastards are coming with me!"

She closed her eyes and waited for the end, but this time, she wasn't scared at all. The Tank's fists crashed against her frail form with the crushing force of an oncoming train. Zoey heard her bones snap and felt her body fall ungracefully to the floor, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.

One last wheezing chuckle escaped her throat before the last bits of consciousness left her.

She was going home.


End file.
